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They say parenthood is tough, but they skip the crucial detail: you don't just worry, you sign up for a lifelong sport of catastrophic worrying. They should warn you that you'll be actively logging thirty-four hours a day of it. Not an exaggeration. Thirty-four hours. (And God help him, sometimes thirty-five when Phuwin was running late from work.) Pond's body was a temple, but his nervous system was currently a chaotic, non-Euclidean geometry experiment that made absolutely no sense.
He knew, rationally, that he worried more than the average person. It was a reflex, one he’d been conditioned into by people who believed showing love meant perpetual alarm. His mom could manage to find the dark side of a beautiful day. Pond had soaked up every bit of that paranoia. Even before they held PermPoon, he worried about the most ridiculous things—would the baby accept him? Was his booming laugh damaging the baby’s hearing? Was Phuwin standing in the sun for five minutes too long? (Phuwin’s skin was a national treasure, and Pond wasn't about to let the UV rays spoil it.)
He should really channel his husband, Phuwin. Phuwin was the calm one, the guy who believed the universe would sort itself out, the other dad to their impossibly curious, unbelievably perfect little human, PermPoon. Pond? Pond had a detailed fifty-point list of all the ways this could go wrong. Even now, parked outside the kindergarten, the thought of leaving their son in a place crammed with tiny chairs, tiny scissors, and tiny, weaponized-with-germs humans made him want to puke. Right onto the limited-edition Birkenstock clogs Phuwin had splurged on for their anniversary, too.
Phuwin had given him the full "there, there" cheek pat that morning, a gesture Pond found entirely too patronizing, given that he was the taller one.
"It’s just school, hon," he’d said, all sunshine and reason. "You survived school, you'll survive a couple hours of orientation."
"Barely," Pond had grumbled back, leaning into the touch anyway. "I suffered. I suffered."
So this was it. Orientation day. Early August, a bright, too-hot Sunday morning before the school year officially kicked off. Out of a hundred schools in the city, they'd landed here because this was Phuwin's alma mater. "It shaped me into the man you fell for," Phuwin had declared with a dramatic wink, and that had been that. Pond had agreed—a little too easily, perhaps—but his anxiety wasn't having it. He'd spent a week reading every single parent review on the internet, and the little list of emergency backup schools was still bookmarked on his browser. He wasn't not prepared.
From the parking lot, the place looked okay, but up close, the building seemed significantly smaller than the professional photos had suggested. Pond frowned, realizing it was just the disorienting effect of seeing everything scaled down to the size of a preschooler. Above the reception desk, a cheerful vinyl banner declared “HELLO, KINDERGARTEN!”, its letters done in thick, chunky glitter. Around it, paper stars had been slapped up, shimmering brightly each time the chilly air conditioning cycled on. It was almost overwhelmingly cute.
Pond didn't let go of their son’s hand as they made their way through the school's too-bright halls. The little palm was already warm and a little sticky with sweat and whatever snack he’d just finished. It was a truly dumb thought, he knew, but when he squeezed those small, chubby fingers, all Pond really wanted was to scoop the boy up, tuck him into his chest, and just hold on. He wished he could just keep the kid this small, safe and sound, zipped up securely in his jacket pocket forever.
They hadn’t even found the welcome table yet when they were approached by a man who looked like he’d been waiting just for them. He was wearing the standard school polo—black, with the logo embroidered above the heart. His first move, before any formal greeting, was to crouch down to get on PermPoon’s level, offering a friendly, slightly lopsided smile that deepened a cute dimple high on his cheek.
"Bonjour! Sawasdee krub, PermPoon!" The slight French accent on the Bonjour was what did it—it was charming enough to make PermPoon instantly giggle.
"I’m Mr. Saussay, the school counselor," he continued, still crouched down. "And today, I’m your adventure guide."
The man gave PermPoon a small, round sticker that said Explorer in bright gold letters. PermPoon carefully pressed it onto his shirt, right above the pocket where his current pride and joy, a train station master's emblem, rested.
Pond watched him. Their son had inherited Pond's knack for hyperfixation—if he liked something, he really liked it. Pond still wasn't sure how Phuwin had endured years of listening to one specific song or the same handful of jokes until Pond finally moved on to a new obsession. For PermPoon, the current fixation was trains. PermPoon had been a station master for nearly a month, rocking the full uniform, cap to train-shaped backpack.
"Ready to check out your new classroom, superstar?"
Further in, the noise level jumped, filling the hall with the sounds of kids and parents mingling. This section was officially Kid Territory. Small orange and blue bear-shaped backpacks were lined up on low hooks, crayon drawings of stick figures were taped to the walls, and colorful cutout shapes made from construction paper were taped everywhere Pond looked.
He definitely needed a minute, while Phuwin moved ahead, already laughing and chatting with Mr. Saussay. Pond watched him, resentful of how relaxed he looked—like he hadn’t just admitted last night that he was also secretly ready to ugly-cry right here in the lobby.
PermPoon let out a tiny, delighted gasp the second he peeked past the doorway. There were giant stacks of bright LEGO bricks, a miniature wooden play train set laid out on a rug, and shelves completely taken over by books and classic wooden blocks. Even the chill-out corner was decorated with storage boxes shaped like various cartoon animals.
"This is your room," Mr. Saussay said gently to the boy. "This is where you’ll learn and play."
He pointed toward a brightly colored wall. "And see those spots for the backpacks? Those are your cubbies. You’ll have your own cubby space."
PermPoon let go of Pond's hand and walked straight to the long wall of cubbies. He was small enough that he had to trail a finger along the bottom edge of the shelf, carefully reading the names on each label until he hit it: PermPoon L. in big, bright blue lettering.
“Phor, Than Pond! That’s me!” he squeaked, jumping excitedly on the balls of his feet.
Pond felt that familiar, absurd swell in his chest—the kind that always brought a sudden, stinging warmth to the back of his eyes. He was ridiculously proud. It still felt like a small miracle that the tiny thing who had once fit entirely in his two palms could now read his own name off a sticker. Obviously, the “little genius” part was clearly Phuwin’s genetics at work; Pond knew that much. He was merely the handsome, supportive half of this parenting equation. Even so, he still felt like his heart might actually burst right out of his chest with pride.
They followed Mr. Saussay through a set of glass doors and stepped out onto a charming little play garden. There were stepping stones shaped like giant leaves, a huge sandbox stocked with shiny, primary-colored buckets, and a miniature vegetable patch full of bright green sprouts. Before Pond could even register the lack of shade, PermPoon was down on his knees in the dirt, completely absorbed, already giving the garden a professional inspection.
Phuwin led him to one of the benches attached to a tiny picnic table. Pond followed, feeling exactly like a grown-up Alice who’d swallowed the "Drink Me" tonic ten minutes too late. He had to fold his long legs in a wholly uncomfortable way just to avoid kicking the adjacent bench. Pond knew he was a tall guy, but the sudden, horrifying realization was how abnormally small everything looked now. The tables and chairs only reached his mid-thigh, turning the whole classroom into one massive obstacle course for giants. It looked like it had been designed by a Lilliputian, yet somehow, as a kid, this equipment had seemed perfectly normal and functional.
He kept an eye on PermPoon, who was supposed to be stacking wooden boxes with Mr. Saussay—some kind of initial developmental test, Pond assumed.
It was over in a flash. Barely ten seconds passed before PermPoon completely abandoned the task. His body had clearly made a democratic decision. His hands began to wiggle, his feet started a quick, happy hop, and his head moved to the beat of a song only he could hear.
Pond had to smother a laugh into his shoulder. Poor Mr. Saussay was left standing there, absolutely blinking like a confused owl. He looked completely bamboozled, clearly trying to process this moment against the backdrop of his well-organized orientation agenda. Pond figured he was mentally paging through the staff guide for the correct reaction to an unscheduled, dramatic dance presentation.
Phuwin let out a soft laugh. "He does that," he clarified. "If there’s a song stuck in his head, he has to move. There's no stopping him."
Pond turned his head toward Phuwin's voice, instantly feeling that stomach-clutching, decades-old surge of adoration. The sunlight absolutely loved his husband, tracing the long dark hair until it seemed to shimmer. He was older now, of course; the faint crow's feet at the corners of his eyes had definitely deepened, but Pond only saw them as a beautiful map of every good memory they'd shared. Still, it was completely infuriating how unfairly pretty he remained. And that smile? Pond had seen it a million times, but it was still the exact same, heart-stopping, slightly shy grin the boy in the university uniform had used to hook him at nineteen.
"It’s for the best," Phuwin added, sounding far too smug. "Better than the kid crying and clinging to my leg for dear life." He immediately softened the statement with a proud grin. "Not that PermPoon would ever do that. He's a good kid."
“That's fantastic," Mr. Saussay said, nodding. "Movement is a core part of how he processes the world, then. Don't worry, we're set up to make sure he has both the room to move and the structure to focus.”
They followed Mr. Saussay back inside to meet the teacher, Ms. Tomlinson. She was a petite woman, bright and energetic, with hair cut into a neat pixie crop and eyes the exact color of a clear Aegean sea. Pond’s attention immediately went to the lemon-shaped earrings she wore. If anyone was going to manage their little genius, it was someone who wore novelty fruit earrings.
"Hello, PermPoon," she sang out warmly. "I've been waiting to meet you. Do you want to choose your reading beanbag? We have orange, blue, and cloud-white."
Unsurprisingly, PermPoon chose the cloud-white one dotted with little fishes.
Pond watched him explain the silly fish-upon-the-sky joke to the teacher, who responded with a polite chuckle. He tried to remember when PermPoon was little enough to actually buy that story. It felt like another lifetime.
He let them have their moment, hanging back in the doorway, just watching his son sit comfortably on the tiny furniture. The rush of feelings was intense—massive pride, obviously, but also a sudden, sharp tug of nostalgia, and then this bizarre feeling of being slightly left behind. His baby wasn’t a baby anymore, and that was that.
"Go enjoy your coffee break," Mr. Saussay chirped, assuring them that their little one would be happily occupied until the afternoon’s potluck, where they’d all reconnect later.
While Phuwin started to take the hint, Pond stalled. He just kept looking at his son, who had, in the span of three minutes, become a perfect little piece of this vibrant new classroom. It was the first step out of their cozy, protective bubble—and the way the kid hadn’t even looked back made Pond’s throat tighten.
“Let’s go, Phi,” Phuwin said, already turning toward the door.
Pond responded with a deeply dramatic sigh, which caused Phuwin to stop and chuckle.
“I swear I’m overreacting,” Pond admitted, half to himself.
Phuwin rubbed his thumb across Pond's knuckles. “Definitely,” he agreed, not even trying to hide his amusement.
They headed down the hall, their hands linked and swinging casually between their hips.
Pond glanced over at Phuwin. "Should I just take a mental health day when he starts?" he asked. "I'm going to be completely useless anyway. I'll probably just sit there and cry over old baby pictures on my phone, totally pathetic until five p.m."
Phuwin’s mouth quirked up. He started to lift his eyebrows in that way that always meant he was about to gently tease Pond, but he stopped himself. He squeezed Pond's hand instead. “Then let’s be pathetic together. We’ll count the seconds until we can pick up our boy.”
Pond let out a soft, relieved laugh. "Honestly? That sounds perfect to me. Absolutely perfect."
They made it back outside into the bright, sun-warmed hallway. Pond could practically feel the slack in the metaphorical line. It felt like parenthood was just a slow process of letting go. You started by holding the string of the kite so tight it dug into your palm, but little by little, you were forced to pay it out. He knew he had to trust that at four years old, just like forty, PermPoon would find the wind and fly.
“Do you think the café down the street is open yet?”